


This isn't the Cheese Dream

by ranchoff



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Embarrassment, F/M, Masturbation, Mild Smut, Other, comedic smut, generic warden - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 01:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13869972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranchoff/pseuds/ranchoff
Summary: Early on in their travels, Alistair finds himself *thinking* about the Warden in his tent one morning - and then he feels really, really, really bad about it when he sees her in camp afterward.Featuring a generic female Warden, for all your oc-inserting delight!





	This isn't the Cheese Dream

**Author's Note:**

> (credit to sunleyemrys for the title)

Alistair rolled onto his back as the light of early morning pulled him slowly out of his comfortable slumber. A low, sleepy growl stumbled out of him while his eyes opened. An even louder growl echoed from his stomach. Someone was already awake, he could smell the tantalizing scent of eggs and potatoes sizzling over the fire. Still half-asleep, a hazy image of himself floating up out of his tent toward the enticing smell drifted through his mind….his legs stretched out, willing him to stand….but….

His hand drifted downward, his fingers sliding under the waistband of his pants, an automatic response to the obtrusive pressure between his legs. The fleeting images from sleep still lingered in his head, buzzing around...confusing….strangely pleasant. Her lips had been pressed to his skin, feeling so…. _real_ , she was muttering nonsensical sounds he couldn’t string together into words, but they somehow comforted him nonetheless and...then she was on top of him, and she was…. _warm_ … His chest ached as he played out the dreamy fantasy in his head: He finds her in an impossibly empty camp one night to tell her how he feels about her, how all his rushing thoughts make him dizzy when he’s with her, and how he cares about her so much that it _hurts_ ; then he leans down to kiss her...the fire nearby is so warm, she is enveloped by his arms, she kisses him back so sweetly and then her hands are upon him and the camp is suddenly so much warmer...

He massaged himself with hesitation, his hand freezing up every few seconds. _Don’t_ , he told himself sternly, but then a cruel part of his brain reminded him of the way her rear swung around so enticingly as she ran up a hill on the road yesterday, and… _DON’T,_ he would scold himself again when his wrist went involuntarily back into motion. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a stern chantry mother unleashed threats of divine lightning and fire - he tried to focus in on that, to make himself think of anything that would calm him down, but then… _Maker,_ the imagined sensation of her soft lips on his body returned and forced away any semblance of self-control he had.

A vague sense of doom loomed over him as he continued. _She’s your friend, she trusts you, you shouldn’t be...she’s going to know..._ shame filled him and slowed his pace - though it didn’t stop him. He bit his lip and images flashed past his mind’s eye: hands on her hips, pulling her onto his lap, skin on skin, a steady rhythm, a thumping pulse and... _warmth again…_ he heard her voice moaning _Alistair_ , and he breathed her name inaudibly in response. Guilt and anxiety lingered from the sidelines of his conscience and gave disapproving jeers, but...damn, what he wouldn’t give to kiss that _beautiful_ face, to worship every inch of her body and feel her shiver under his touch….

He found his release with tense breaths and a contorted face and twitching in his legs, then exhaled carefully as he allowed the feverish haze to die down. The morning air was suddenly so much colder and harsher, but it at least helped to smooth out his blurred senses. He reached out for the knapsack by his bedroll and grasped half-blindly for his handkerchief buried somewhere within, finally finding it and cleaning himself off. Casting the rag aside, he pushed himself up and rubbed his face with tense fingers.

_Maker’s breath._

A few minutes later, Alistair emerged from the tent fully dressed with a hungry stomach and beads of sweat still on his neck. He glanced over at the fire, expecting Leliana or Wynne - they were usually the first to rise and prepare breakfast. But to his horror he found _her_ , holding a bowl of food and sitting cross-legged on the ground by the fire, her mabari resting by her with his head on her knees. _Run away_ , his instincts screamed a moment too late; she glanced up and gave a polite nod as she covered her mouth. “Oh - morning,” she muttered from behind her hand, her voice muffled by the mouthful of food.

 _She knows_ . _She knows what you just did, you awful, disgusting man_.

“Morning,” he supplied in a voice three pitches too high. “You er- sleep well? You’re up early.”

She paused to finished chewing. “He woke me up,” she finally answered with an exasperated gesture at the happy dog stretched over her lap. _He knows too_ , Alistair panicked as he watched the dog sniff at the bowl in her hand. “That enormous piece of rabbit he ate last night wasn’t enough, apparently.”

He forced an awkward laugh in response and averted his eyes from her as he sat down by the fire. He frantically helped himself to a bowl of potatoes and eggs, and shoved the food into his mouth with equal fervor.

“Are you….alright, Alistair?” she asked him gently. “Did _you_ sleep alright?”

“I slept fine,” he replied defensively with a mouthful of food. _Maker, what if she can...smell it or something? What if - did I not clean it all off?_ he thought with a pang of terror and glanced down covertly at his lap to rebut this sudden fear. “Just, you know...hungry. Fighting and...traveling and all that, it makes you...erm, hungry.”

She paused for a moment. “Right…yeah, it...does.” The ghost of a question hung in her inflection. They ate together quietly for a few minutes, until she set down her bowl and broke the silence. “So, listen,” she started, hesitating for a moment as she swallowed the last of her breakfast.

 _Listen, creep_ , he could hear the rest of her sentence in the split second of silence, _I know what you did, don’t you look at me or speak to me or even think about me ever again_.

“I was thinking,” she continued. “Maybe tonight, if we make it to town, we could find an inn and rent a few rooms for the night. Everyone seems so tired lately, I think it might help to- ”

“Yes! Good, great plan,” he stammered, resolutely looking everywhere but her face. He could see her raised eyebrow in the corner of his vision, but he couldn’t look at her - if he looked at her, _it_ would be written all over his face and she would _know_ and he would have to run far away until he found a big, cold body of water to dive into. Or maybe he could just hide in a cave for the rest of his life. A cave could work. “That sounds great. Great plan.”

“Um, great,” she replied with uncertainty. Awkward silence penetrated the air again. _Where’s all the rest of the group when you actually need them?_ Alistair thought spitefully as he shoveled potatoes into his mouth. He could see her in the corner of his eye; she was looking down at her mabari while she stroked behind his ears. His eyes seemed to have a will of his own, pushing deliberately and forcing his head to turn. His petrified expression softened as he admired her and her lovely, tired smile - until she glanced back up. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, and Alistair jolted automatically to his feet in a panic.

“You know,” he exclaimed with a crack in his voice as he set down his bowl of food on a nearby boulder. “I just realized, I think I forgot to...pack up my - socks. Not good, that. Never know when you’ll need some - dry socks.” He cringed, but did not let his burning humiliation stop him from talking as he turned away from her and her increasingly baffled facial expression. He continued calling back to her as he ducked into his tent and imagined it was a cave somewhere very far away. “So, I’m just going to...go make sure that I - you know, have all my socks! Just in case!”

He buried his face into his hands the moment he reached the safe cover of his tent.

 _Maker’s breath, Alistair - you can never look her in the face again_.


End file.
